


Whichever Day of Christmas

by The Hag (hagsrus)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Christmas, M/M, New Years, Older Lads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 12:54:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5627341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hagsrus/pseuds/The%20Hag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a bit of older lads domestic fluff, written for Discovered in the Holly and the Ivy: Day 34<br/>January 3 2016</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whichever Day of Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Companion story to Crackers, Merrythought, and Happy Old Year

"Sod off, pussycat!" Doyle snarled, narrowly avoiding Castor's affectionate ankle-twining attempt to send him sprawling.

"They finally getting you down, then?" Bodie turned from the sideboard and raised the glass he'd just filled. "Cheers. "

"You're back early." Doyle pulled off his jacket and tossed it over the arm of the sofa.

"Need to cancel the dancing girls, do you? Vodka and orange?"

"Ta. How did it all go?"

"Not bad. Signed a contract with Andahl for next year, anyway, with a ten percent increase. And the princess is very happy with our discreet bouncing of Uncle Faisal at the New Year bash when all her in-house bods were too deferential."

"Another enemy for our collection," Doyle predicted.

"He's buggering back off home, she says. And she dished out an extra five grand bonus."

"Cash?"

"Certainly." He set Doyle's drink on the coffee table and sank down on the sofa beside him. "All okay with the kids?"

"Don't know how you stand it," Doyle complained. "There's Yasmina nonstop with 'Look at my Hello Kitty T-shirt and wallet,' and Tariq 'Can I see your gun, Mr Doyle? Mr Bodie lets me hold his,' and Yasmina yells 'Liar! liar! Mr Doyle, look at my Hello Kitty backpack' and waves it around till she bloody near brains me. At least she didn't show me any Hello Kitty knickers. No Hello Kitty guns, thank god."

"Oh, there's people doing knock-offs in America,"  
Bodie assured him, "but Tariq thinks they'd be sissy."

Doyle rescued the jacket which Pollux was preparing to annex. "You can piss off too, Bollocks." 

Pollux, offended, leapt to the top of the tall bookcase to resume his longterm contemplation of the holly and mistletoe ball that dangled from the ceiling. 

"Touch of delayed Bah Humbugs, eh? "

"You'll be thrilled to hear the kids can't wait for you to get back to bodyguard duty. Did you happen to know that you always stop and buy them ice cream?"

"Of course. That's when Tariq does his daily target practice with my gun."

"Tempted to clout him with the butt of mine."

Bodie shook his head sadly. "Thought you were mellowing with age. And you were the one running sports clubs for the underprivileged kids and stopping every five minutes to barge into street football games."

"And unearth the occasional bomb, don't forget. Anyway, we could send Hoskins if you hadn't convinced the princess that we were the only ones who could keep her little darlings safe from the nasty kidnappers."

"Bagged us all the rest of her overpaid security work, didn't it? Small price to pay."

"Well, you can go back to paying it tomorrow, now your negotiations are over. Still got mine to tackle. Wonder if I can talk Jenkins into that new alarm system? Fancy dinner at Gregorio's to celebrate Tenth Night with a bit of that cash?"

"Tenth? Ninth, isn't it?" Bodie objected.

"Well, Twelfth Night would be the fifth. Night before Epiphany."

"Nah - it was always the sixth, when we took the decorations down."

"Hang on." Doyle reached for his laptop. "Hmm."

"So what do the Google gods say?" Bodie asked, sipping his drink contentedly.

"Well - depends if you count from Christmas or Boxing, but after a lot of historical blah blah fishcakes the Graun and the Torygraph both seem to think it's really January fifth. And it's unlucky to leave the decorations up later than that."

They both looked at the holly-mistletoe ball.

"Good thing that's all we have to take down, then," Bodie observed. 

"Haven't made much use of it this year, you know. Never seem to be in its vicinity when our animal lusts overcome us."

"So, Gregorio's? I'm famished."

"Hope it's not crowded out with leaping lords. Or those dancing ladies I had to put off. Get your coat and I'll give him a call to keep us a table."

The holly-mistletoe ball swayed gently in the draught from the hall. Doyle stood beneath it, pulling on his jacket. "Come back here a minute."

"What?"

Doyle looked upward. "Don't want to waste it."

"Prat." They enveloped each other in a warm embrace and a vodka-and-orange mingled with gin-and-tonic kiss, then started towards the door.

There was a flurry and scuffle overhead and a holly-mistletoe-cat ball came bouncing down behind them.

"Oh, hello, kitty! Well done," said Bodie. "Didn't think he could jump that far. Have to stick it further from the bookcase next year. Saves us the bother on Twelfth Night, whenever the hell it is."

Pollux disentangled himself and started to wash his face with an air of total disengagement while Castor emerged from his panic refuge beneath the sofa and slunk over to investigate.

"Hang on," Doyle sighed. "Don't want them poisoning themselves with the berries. Shove it in the outside bin as we go. Tell you what, we'll stop at that gelato place on the way home and I'll buy you some ice cream, then when we get back -- "

"You'll show me your Hello Kitty knickers?"

"Well..." Doyle delivered an affectionate pat to Bodie's rear, "if I'm feeling really mellow I might even let you hold my gun."


End file.
